Post Script
by radishface
Summary: One interpretation (and a highly inaccurate one at that) of Spike, Julia, and Vicious before the series.


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Post Script 

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Disclaimers: Cowboy Bebop belongs to Sunrise and Bandai. 

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Notes: Perhaps if you look hard enough, there will be some shounen-ai-ness. Maybe. This is a fic that takes place before the series, while Spike and Vicious were in the Red Dragons. Expect a lot of jumping around and OOCness on everybody's part. The timeline will probably be way off too, because it was never really made clear in the series... ::grumbles:: And thanks to Ayame-neesan for proofreading and beta-ing for me. 

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Radishface 

* * * 

The syndicate building seemed so tall from the outside. Amidst all the other buildings, the glass had seemed like all the other glass and the people walking in and out seemed like all the other people walking in the streets. And it had seemed like such a normal, normal, place. Some of them were laughing, like regular people would. And people knew, but didn't suspect, that there was a larger story behind the building, not with everybody walking in and out-- but just between him... 

It seemed like everybody knew. 

They'd all looked at him as he dragged his feet down the sidewalk, shoulders hunched with a purpose, but a sullen, lifeless look in his eyes. They had all laughed at him, inside. Such a fool for falling in love, they had said. What kind of a fool would fall in love with someone he knew to be dead and gone? It would only cause more pain to add to the pain already there. The longer he loved, the more intense the pain, the more intense the pain, the more dire the consequences-- and so it would go on longer, and longer, and longer, until something broke and sent everything he kept inside him spiraling outwards and into nothingness. 

The doors had opened for him-- the people had stared at him, the red carpet lined the floor, the Red Dragons crest hung proud on the wall opposite to him, and after a heart-pounding moment that dissolved into a grey like everything else, he knew he was home.

__

Home.

The explosions rocked the foundations of the building, the smoke made it hard to see in front of him, behind him-- the gunshots rang through his ears, and he rain upwards, and upwards, higher to the top, blood leaking from a cut on his head and flowed over his good eye, and he couldn't see anything but red. But he could see so many things out of his other eye, and hear so many things, the cries of welcome, the explosion of the fireworks, the gunshots that rang,, a woman's voice complaining, a dog barking, and a devil-may-care child's laugh resonating through his mind, and somewhere far off, if he concentrated hard enough, he could smell a familiar scent of bell peppers and beef made with nothing but bell peppers and soy sauce. 

And if he pushed further back, he could feel a soft whisper by his ear, gentle hands working their way through his hair, a soft hand in his, and he knew that he had _lived,_ then. 

And then, at the beginning of everything, he could feel a comfortable arm draped around his, somebody laughing, talking with him, and he knew that he was _happy, _then. 

The elevator door opened, and he was met with the familiar click of a loading gun and Shin's eyes. 

"This way." Shin said, running ahead, knowing the intent, purpose, and at the same time, not knowing at all, for what, and why, he had come here. The people that thought they knew him only saw the _other _side of him, the side he wanted to show, but wished he didn't have to. But it was necessary.

Everything was necessary to survive such a dream like this.

The sound of gunshots cascaded ahead, and in such a short moment, they had met, and now they were parting.

Shin collapsed onto the ground, as he fired his gun at the opposing guard, again and again, until that body fell back as well, gun falling with him. 

"I was waiting." Shin said, a half-formed, wry, smile on his face. He was prone on the floor, and his eyes strained to meet his.

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For what?

"We were all waiting…"

He could only look down, wanting to hear. Knowing what he was going to hear.

"For you to come back."

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Do you think I would come back?

The body went limp, it seemed, and in that short moment, life had disappeared, just like that. He could see it rising out like the smoke in his cigarettes. And that was the end. 

And if he looked back upon his own life, he thought, standing up shakily, he could see… no. 

Everything behind that was nothing-- everything before that was only a dead blue. 

And why had it turned out like this? 

__

Why?

Why did he have to have the desire to live, when he could have only been happy? 

Would he rather have chosen a imperfect life to an eternal dream?

The choice was not his anymore, because he had already chosen, everything had already happened.

The gun had always been in his hands, the kata in _his._ They had practiced, before. They knew each other like they knew themselves, and somewhere along the way, they had lost identity of themselves. 

But they still knew each other. 

Higher, and higher, and higher, to the building closest to heaven. The blood running over his good eye, and now, he couldn't see anything out of his other eye, because he had shoved everything to a place where his tainted hands could not grasp them anymore. Eyes had been lost, he was left running blind, but he knew where he was headed towards. Didn't he always used to run this way? Up and up and up? And sometimes, breathless, he felt like he could touch the face of the moon. 

__

Take me. The moon would scream to him, in that hoarse voice he knew so well. _Take me._

Maybe he had said it. 

The door opened for him, and there _he _sat, waiting for him. The moonlight streamed through the skylights just like they had used to, brilliant, luminous.

He closed both his eyes, not permitting himself to see out of either one of them, just searching in the dark void that were his thoughts, for that one memory that had always been so hard to catch, for that one memory that seemed to had eluded him so much, because it had happened so rarely. 

No.

It had always been there. It had been his to take, for so long. 

And Vicious smiled, a genuine smile, down at where he was, his mouth only curved up faintly, but the depth and meaning behind them betraying so much that it seemed impossible that he had done so. 

He reached out to touch that memory. 

His fist enclosed around it, and it felt cool, and warm, like a summer night, sitting there, beneath the moon, knowing that he was nothing, but still being contented with that. 

The ephemeral stuff disappeared, and he opened his eyes, waking to reality, and then--

He raised the gun up, trying to focus his good eye, even though the loss of blood left him weak and nearly incapable of moving-- he felt his finger squeeze itself twice on the trigger, missing both times, then he ran up, up the stairs, where _he _pulled out his kata and sliced, nearly missing him-- and then his gun was knocked out of his hands, the kata knocked out of _his, _and then he was saying something, trying to smile, trying to be strong, just like he had used to. 

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She's gone. 

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Let's end this...

And their eyes were both full of malice, at each other, at her, at the world that surrounded them-- at this dream that had started out with so much promise and had ended as a nightmare. They were both trapped in cages and the keys had been lost such a long, long, time ago, when _she _came into their lives-- 

And it was _her _who had made them realize they were living--

And when _she _left, life turned back into a dream again, but this time, nothing could be the same as it had been before, and the both of them--

Eight, seven, six, five, four three, two, _one._

His gun slid towards him and he kicked the sword out from under his feet, and made a half-hearted attempt to reach it, and shot, once, and he felt the blade of the kata slice his waist, and then, there was so much liquid red. It rained down on the both of them, and he saw the other face, contorted in pain, in hate, in anguish for the both of them, for what they had suffered.

The eyes went dull, the hands limp, the body fell to the floor and the kata clattered next to him. 

"Spike." 

It was no more than a whisper. He turned around, clenching his side, the cut there before now split open even more. His legs felt numb. 

"You..." 

The word died on his lips, left unsaid. 

* * * 

He was walking down the stairs, clutching at his side, stumbling as he walked, knowing he hadn't been victorious, but he hadn't lost, but knowing that somehow, what he had always wanted and what he had always ever wished for since he had _lived _was there, waiting for him, on the other side. 

The blood seeped through his fingers through the wound on his side, and blood was drying on him, turning into a mess of sticky, reddish-brown. He couldn't even open his eye anymore, but that didn't seem to matter.

He saw a small, pulsing light, growing larger and larger as he carried his legs and made them walk somewhere, and it was a like a target, for him to hit. Like the sun this time, rising higher and higher, all over again. It came back to him painfully, the remembrance of that feeling striking him as an empty, heavy feeling in his heart, and he desperately wanted to feel that ache again, and be sucked into reliving his life over again, like before, like after... 

His extended his hand, feeling a smile of satisfaction and contempt and happiness paint itself on his face, and he stared straight ahead and then-- 

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Bang.

****

* * * 

"You liked that, didn't you." 

"Eh?"

Spike grinned, his step light and his hands shoved in his jean pockets. His gun had been tucked away in his jacket, and he could still feel the heat radiating from it from the skirmish he was involved just a couple minutes ago. 

Vicious walked next to him, the usual sullen expression on his face, although a faint glimmer of adrenaline could still be seen in his eyes. 

"Of course I enjoyed it." Spike said casually. "I always enjoy the fights I get myself into, don't I?" He sighed, a puff of breath appearing before his face in the winter air. "Besides. The high you get in a fight isn't as dangerous as taking red eye."

"It all depends on the person." A voice, no more than a growl, came beside him. "Some people can stay in total control of themselves when they're taking it." 

"Rarely. They get addicted afterwards." 

"Red eye isn't addictive. You only think it is."

Spike shrugged. "It seems like you know a lot about red eye. Me, I've never heard outside the rumors." He looked curiously at Vicious. "Drug trade isn't in your department, is it?"

"No." Was the curt reply. 

"I would have been in deep shit if you hadn't come along this way." He grinned again, casting a glance at the grey-haired man. "Do you take morning strolls along that road or what?"

"I think I have to keep a constant watch over you." 

"Really?" An eyebrow was raised. "Syndicate orders?"

"You're too careless sometimes." 

"Hn."

They continued to walk back towards the syndicate building, a comfortable silence resting between the two. 

"So this is going to be our life forever, huh?" A barely audible drawl. 

Vicious turned his gaze on Spike, assessing.

"I mean... it's good right now... but we're going to get bored of it. I've been thinking about it..."

""It" being?"

"Oh, you know." Spike cast him a good-humored grin. "Settling down with a woman and all. Raising a couple children and donating them to this shit life of the Red Dragons." He laughed. "Yeah, right."

****

* * * 

It's not like I _want _to die, you know? Scenarios like those just happen. A lot. 

And sometimes I do. Adrenaline's such a nice feeling. Then it wears out and you're left worn. Lack of better words. And that's when I go to the bar and have a couple drinks. Usually I go wherever everybody else goes and get the same thing. Nothing. It's interesting. I go there to get drinks and this time I wound up getting nothing. I don't know. Must have had something to do with the new girl. 

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His girl. 

I think I just stood there, gawking like some sort of a fish with my beer in my hand and then she turned around with this cool expression like "excuse me, who are you?" 

It struck me, how I hadn't noticed her before. She was beautiful-- stunning. It's not because she was your typical tall blonde with blue eyes and a slim figure… but I think it was something else. Maybe. I'm not sure. I'm not saying it was something like love at first sight-- she was just a bit interesting. More interesting than those other girls I've seen and picked up before. 

Sure. Just interesting. 

So he was over there playing pool, with the usual expression on his face, watching me out of the corner of his eye. He does that a lot. For crying out loud, it's not like he has to keep an eye on me when I'm not even drunk. I forgot about my can of beer. I think somebody snatched it out of my hand when I was busy… looking-- just looking! At that blonde. Seriously, nothing more. I mean, he had this whole possession thing going on around her. You could feel that aura radiate off him. When he's serious about something, which he _is,_ most of the time, he means it. Well of course he means it. When you're serious, you usually mean whatever it is you're trying to get across, right?

So I think I played a few rounds of billiards with the guys and then I think I left. Even without the alcohol, I was feeling slightly dizzy. Maybe it was because I felt her eyes on me too. I didn't look back at her after my first gawking, even though I wanted to. Hell, who wouldn't? Every single eye in the bar was on her-all those male, that is. A few other girls hung out, but they were just your ordinary, every-day kind of attractive. Not like that woman. 

How did he manage to pick somebody like that up?

Must have been connections. He has multiple connections, everywhere. And not to mention he's a regular favorite of the elders as well. They call him up there all the time and tell him to run errands like he's some errand boy. People envy positions like that-"favorite," "pet" kind of positions. And why? Only more people to please. So I rarely get to see him because he's always out doing something for those elders. _Something. _I don't know why, it just kind of saddens me at times.

He's always been distant. 

He's never _known…_

Something. I don't know what. It's a feeling I get. He's just so alone. And _there. _Quite frankly, I was surprised to see him there at the bar the other night. Maybe he was showing off that pretty thing of his. Isn't that right? You should know. You're always with him. Such a bird. 

You squawk. An affirmative, maybe? 

Shame on you. You shouldn't call her a 'thing.' 

****

* * * 

The wind was biting, even though he had a jacket on, his collar turned up. He walked on the crisp leaves, hearing the slightly crunching sound they made whenever he stepped on them. A mother and her two children were in the far distance, the mother shivering in the cold while the two children tossed a ball back and forth between them. His eyes narrowed although his lips curved in a smile, wondering how the children could laugh like that playing in such cold and at the same time, wondering how they could be so oblivious to their shivering mother. Children were ingrates, all of them. 

"So, what are you doing here?" Surprise, yet not, radiated from his voice, as he rounded a corner and came face to face with her. 

"I'm waiting for him." She said, seating herself down on the park bench, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles on her jacket. "He's supposed to come by this way this afternoon." A momentary pause, and then she asked, "How long have you been here?" 

"What's that supposed to mean?" He said, casting a sideways glance at her, almost suspiciously, as he pulled a cigarette out of his shirt pocket, and lit it. 

"Well, it seems like you've been here for a long time." Her voice was soft, it melted into the wind that blew around them, and her voice disappeared just as the puffs of air did that escaped from between her lips. 

"I didn't know you were going to be here." He murmured quietly, as if he was trying to convince himself of that fact. "It's not like you know." He said, absently. A huff of breath appeared before him, in the cold winter air. "Don't think you know me that well." He accented the words with a brazen grin that contradicted the tone of his voice. "And don't think you know him, either. He could just leave you out here waiting for him while he goes on an errand for the--" 

"I merely think I know." She said simply, interrupting. She was dressed casually, in a maroon turtleneck wool sweater and a pair of jeans, her hands covered by black gloves, her golden hair cascading over her shoulders. "I've known him." 

"Speaking of that." He said, half turning, shoving his hands in his pockets, trying not to look at her. "How long _have _you known him, anyway?"

She didn't say anything for a while, merely sat there, her hands folded in her lap, with a half-smile on her face. His eyes wandered around the park, impatiently waiting for a response. The wind blew, and the leaves flew off their branches, beautiful shades of red and orange and yellow. The ground was littered with them, and children's laughter came from afar but he didn't hear that. His eyes were fixated on hers, although hers were carefully looking away. 

"Long enough." She murmured, always evasive. 

He moved abruptly, as if to strike her, his fists clenching and the cigarette dropping out of his mouth and suddenly they were eye to eye, their noses almost touching. His arms were clutching the back of the bench, his breath coming unevenly. She sat there, looking straight ahead, something in her eyes betraying that she had known him long enough, just like he knew him. 

"I--" He said, breathless, and he turned his eyes down, almost frantically. "I--" 

"Don't." She said, her eyes growing wide, not looking at him but at something past him, and he quickly pushed himself off the bench and turned to look into those piercing grey eyes, narrowed, looking at him, although not directly _at _him. The meaning of the glance was vague, the intentions unknown, and he found himself swimming through a myriad of images of nothing as his mouth twitched, uncertain as whether to smile or not.

"_Julia._" It came as a hiss, grey eyes suddenly dull and lifeless. 

She rose from the bench, sidestepping him as he stood there, hands clenched into fists, shoved back in his pockets, and he heard the sound of their footsteps grow further and further away and then fade into nothing. His eyes looked down at his cigarette, smothered on the ground where he had stepped on it, embers burning away.

And then all that was left were the ashes.

*** * * **

The bar was dimly lit, and the spare light cast a warm sepia glow over the room. Glasses clinked softly as they were being filled, and people hunched over pool tables, movements carefully timed and positions carefully sought. A piano merged with the sound of a bass and gentle drumming, and hushed, low, voices spoke words that meant nothing, that talked of unimportant things. Cigarette smoke floated above people's heads before dispersing into the air, and _she_ was over on the opposite side of the room, drinking her drink and watching the musicians play. 

"So..." He started off casually, leaning back against the loveseat, taking in the yellow-orange glow of the settings. "How have you been?"

"Fine." Was the curt reply. 

"What exactly were you doing there?" Directly to the point. 

The other man sat in an armchair, legs crossed, eyes cast down, not looking at anything. "Doing where?" He replied, his voice low like it always was, an ominous edge to it.

"The other day." His head fell back against the chair, and he let his eyes rest on the ceiling. "At the park. Was she waiting for you?" 

He didn't answer immediately. "I don't see why that matters to you." 

"It doesn't." 

"Then why do you ask?"

There was silence between the two of them, and they both tried not to listen to the words they weren't saying to each other-- they tried to listen to the soft music that played from the other side of the room, but the piano, the bass, and the drums were all drowned out by the voices of the other people who were all talking about a million different things, each of them the same. _She_ got up and walked to the bar, and picked up two glasses that the waiter placed before her and started towards them, the liquid in the full glasses spilling slightly over the rims. 

He watched her walk, and looked up at him, all emotion devoid in them except for scorn. But he spoke with laughter, as if he were telling a joke, even though he knew his eyes spoke different words, expressed themselves in deeper volumes. 

"Why don't you let her choose for herself?" 

"Let her choose?" Grey eyes flashed dangerously, fingers digging into the armrest, leaving marks on the leather. 

"You know perfectly well what I mean." He laughed, ridicule obvious and he leaned forward, hands on his knees, a smirk playing out on his face. "You told her to get a Varscotti wine, didn't you? I'm sure she'd prefer something else." 

Pale hands gripped the leather seat even tighter but the voice that came out was controlled. "I see." 

****

* * * 

Green bird, blue sun, orange sky, white crow. 

The battle raged on. The prince rescued the princess from the tower and they rode off on the white horse into the sunset. A giant bonfire blazed from where they left, the city they once ruled left in ruins. The evil overlord didn't exist-- he was merely the prince's best friend. They both loved the princess dearly, but the princess could only choose one of them to marry. But either way she chose would end up in destruction of the other. So she could only be happy for a very short time with the one she loved. And as they were riding on the horse, she seemed to slip off somewhere, and the prince couldn't go back to get her because his horse wouldn't stop galloping. 

Perhaps they would meet again. 

****

* * * 

You don't know how you got here. You only know that you've come here because your legs have taken you here. You wonder how you've gotten so far without falling down. Maybe it's because you've got a reason to keep going until you reach that place. Your legs are so numb and they barely respond because you've lost so much blood. The only blood left in you seems to be around your heart, because you know you can still feel-- not the physical pain. 

Struggling, you pull yourself down the deserted street, because you know _she _lives here. She'll take you in. Nobody needs to know you've escaped. _He _doesn't need to know that you're here. 

The lights seem green, don't they? The entire street seems to be a dirty color, and you wonder how she could survive in such a place. How she could live here. You wonder why you feel like you do about her. 

Your vision swims just as the door opens in front of you, and you fall down. She looks like she's looking for something. She looks like she was going to go out. Maybe she was going to look for you. 

Maybe. 

If you close your eyes, it's like you can see out of both of them. 

****

* * * 

"You look like an idiot."

"I'm glad you've noticed."

"You've healed everywhere else, though. How long is that bandage going to stay over your eye?"

"Until the time comes." 

Laughter.

"So he didn't come to get you that time?"

"No. I had to get out of it myself."

"That's a first."

"It was easy enough."

"You were missing for quite some time. We all thought you were dead."

"Really?" 

"Good thing you made it out. You're the best gunman we have right now. We'll need your eyes for the next "appointment.""

"Eye, you mean." 

"What?"

"I can't see out of this one."

****

* * * 

"Come with me." He said, knowing she'd come no matter what he said. He was so confident, after his eye was lost. She seemed to like it better that way. She seemed to be impressed. It was like a scar. Wasn't everybody impressed by scars? A scar was a reminder of who you were, what you had gone through. Certain scars held certain stories. There were many stories to tell.

It rained outside, but she had not turned on any lights inside. It was as if they were trying to keep themselves isolated from the outside world, from everybody else. Nobody would know that they were in here, planning to leave this world. Planning to go to the ends of this world and break into the next. 

"I can't." She said, her mind trapped between indecision and decision. She wanted to leave. But she didn't want to leave. Because if they left, what would happen then? And in the dark, she hid her face. The one that she wanted to show. 

"Yes, you can." He said, still determined to make it through. He knew she had already chosen, inside. She just needed to realize it herself. She had made that decision such a long time ago.

"Meet me here, the cemetery." He held out an address, written out on a small slip of paper. "I'll be waiting by the graves. Not in them."

"You can't." Her voice almost shook, with conviction. "They'll kill you. You know how they work." 

"They won't." He said, heading for the door. 

She stood there, so afraid for him, so afraid. The door shut gently, and it was like he was never there. He had left behind no trace that he had been here. Why had he come? 

Her hands shook, the piece of paper making a crinkling sound as she pressed it harder into her hand. 

****

* * * 

Broken glass piled around his feet as he ran, as he felt bullets rain down from the sky. The sound of gunshots and breaking glass was all that he heard and human voices yelling, screaming curses and crying for help and crying in pain was something he tried to block out. In battle, he couldn't let himself be drawn into emotion. Concentrate on the essentials. The physical pain. 

He ducked behind the countertop, watching the beakers spill and break as they were shot over and over again, and there was so much liquid on the ground he couldn't tell if it was from the glass containers or blood. The ground was slick with it and he found he couldn't move because if he did, he would fall, and if he fell, he would die in the hands of someone else, and they would gladly shoot him full of holes. 

He wasn't ready to die. 

Scarlet leaked from open cuts on his arms, drenching his coat black. His head throbbed, and a trickle of blood slid down his face, over an eye he knew that couldn't see anymore. 

So it really didn't matter if the blood flowed over it or not. 

He had a strong feeling that all the liquids on the ground were flammable. They could be lit into one bright, gorgeous bonfire, or reds, and oranges, and yellows, just like the leaves in the park, and he could set the building ablaze. Maybe he could still get out. Maybe he could still live. 

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his cigarette lighter, and felt a grotesque grin form on his face.

And as he tossed it onto the floor, watching the flame spread on the floor, watching it grow, and he heard more screams and cries as people realized what had been done, and he knew he had to run, he couldn't watch the flame unfold from where he was standing. So, as he ran, his legs frozen and the wind slapping his face, telling him to come back to reality, he knew that even if he couldn't live through his life, those precious moments of dreams waking were all he needed to keep moving. 

So he kept running, all the way to the end, the rain from the sky making it seem like he was still bleeding, still crying, somewhere inside. 

****

* * * 

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Where do you want to go? 

White sighs, expelled under a half-moon.

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Anywhere.

Ashen hands, moving across white skin.

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Will you let me come with you?

White tears, falling from blank eyes. 

__

Would you stay by me?

White noise, ashes being swept away by a silent wind, and his dreams were broken, were undone. 

****

* * * 


End file.
